


Note by Note

by arcaneApathy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Holiday Omens, Sad Omens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21736120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcaneApathy/pseuds/arcaneApathy
Summary: Revelation 2:4-5But I have this against you: You have abandoned your first love. Therefore, keep in mind how far you have fallen. Repent and perform the deeds you did at first. But if you do not repent, I will come to you and remove your lampstand from its place.
Kudos: 2





	Note by Note

A hand, fingers. A light touch. Ghosting over skin. Sweaty bodies colliding. Loud music. Flashing lights. It was all a blur, bleary eyes unable to focus. The club was a distraction, to keep his mind off of the thing.The thing. Right. He squeezed his eyes shut. His partner asked something, another sound in the flurry of noise. Not important. Not now.

_"Azzie-"_

_"I can't- Az, I miss you, why'd you have to go-"_

A gasp for air. More hands roaming him. Tens of hands, twenties. Hundreds. He was surrounded by bodies, each saying the same thing, "You go too fast for me," in the same horrible voice. He's there, in the car and none of it would stop.

"You couldn't be with him." _You laugh, glance back at him._ "Why would you think you could? Pathetic." _The car stops._ "You let him down, now look where he is." _You let him out._ "You're a failure, Crowley." _You can't see straight._ "A failure." _Nothingness._

Crowley awoke, sweat and tears running down his skin. The plant Aziraphale gave him stood on the nightstand beside him, overflowing from its pot with love. It mocked him. _Bougainvillea._ This one was a creamy off-white, and getting big enough to be planted outside. His flat didn't have any outside garden, but when he would need one, there would be one because he expected there to be. 

He stilled, looking at the plant. And, just for a moment, the tears stopped.

"I sssuppose I have to replant you, hmm?" Crowley traced a finger along a three-petaled flower. It glowed and stretched closer, more buds sprouting. "Now, now, can't have you getting too big while you're an inside plant," he murmured, a trace smile playing on his lips.

The moment was gone when he turned to grab his spray bottle. Bleary eyes caught sight of the note beside the pot and his heart dropped from his chest to his stomach to the floor to hell, then spun up to heaven and back down to earth to hit him in the head. "Right." Fingers closed around the paper. Crisp. He looked down. The ink was sharp black. Handwriting beautifully neat. It hurt to focus and try to read. Normally he'd get Aziraphale to, but he couldn't do that now. He sniffed and dropped the note.

_What was he doing?_

_What was he thinking?_

He gripped the spray bottle more harshly than necessary and started towards the plant room. Step by heavy step did he take, opening the trembling handle with brittle fingers of his own.

The plants.

Yes, the plants.

They came to realize something had happened. As Crowley knew, plants had ears, so he had to be careful with information. Still, they found from his demeanor something was off. He was different. Some days he would yell until he had tears in his eyes. Other days he wouldn't yell at all. But all days he sounded tired.

The plants, as usual, were silent as Crowley misted them. One imagined itself being the one yelling, up until it shook so hard its leaves fell off. Crowley left the room with one less plant that day.

_The carolers left the shop, heading to their next destination. As they began to sing Let It Snow, it began to snow, as if by miracle. Children tugged their parents' sleeves and pointed upward. It was a truly magical moment._

Crowley, being part snake, did not like the cold. This was only natural and nobody could hold it against him. Crowley did not like Christmas. This had nothing to do with being a snake and everything to do with— well, you could ask him, but you won't get an answer. Most people did hold this against him.

Crowley was in snake form, basking beneath a lamp, when his doorbell rang. Somebody had the audacity to ring his doorbell. It wasn't as if he knew anyone. He ignored it and tried to doze off, but the ring came again.

As he changed his appearance to something a human might actually like seeing, the mystery people rang again. "Hold _on_ , I'm coming!" With a wave of his hand, he opened the door, and regretted it.

"We wish you a merry Chri-"

He slammed the door. His head throbbed. His chest burned. His eyes burned. Aziraphale's voice in his head shamed his actions. He took a breath and reached for the door handle.

"I'm sorry. Merry Christmas." He closed the door and sank to the floor. A snap brought the note from his nightstand to him. He couldn't read it very well, especially not through the tears threatening to spill, but he knew the words by heart.

_"Dearest Crowley,_

_I'm afraid I must make a great sacrifice. I have surrendered myself for your safety._

_Sincerely,_

_Aziraphale"_


End file.
